A Calculated Risk
by ElliQuinn
Summary: Missing scenes from "Guilty" and just before "Skip". Provides some background and fleshing out of the early stages of Reese's relationship with Iris. This continues with "Thoughts at 2 am" (immediately post "Skip"), and "Jumping". Please note these are iReese Stories - if you don't like, don't read!


A/N: I know that the episode "Skip" caused consternation among fans, and there's a lot of unease about Reese's possible love interest. This is my take on the early stages of the relationship between Reese and Iris Campbell. A frequent complaint about her is that she's bland and boring, which the POI writers certainly haven't done much to alleviate. But one of the advantages of being left largely in the dark about Iris is that we fanfic writers can fill in the blanks. These are three missing scenes from "Guilty" and one from immediately before "Skip". I don't own POI or any of the characters.

Iris unlocked the door to her apartment, pushing it open with her hip as she maneuvered herself and her shopping through.

"Mao!" Bradley was there of course, greeting her with tail upraised and winding round her legs a couple of times.

"Hello, you," she said to him as she nudged the door shut.

"Mao. Mrrrt?" He rose a little on his hind legs and butted his face insistently into her trailing hand.

"Okay, okay. I'll get to you in a minute," she said as she moved across to her tiny kitchen and began putting her groceries away. Bradley followed, jumping up on the counter to observe. His purr filled to small room: kitchen, dining area, sofa, TV; through the door, her bedroom and a telephone booth-sized shower/bathroom. You can't get much in Manhattan on a police psychologist's pay, she thought ruefully. "Hey. Get off the counter," she said belatedly to the cat. He sat blinking golden eyes at her and continued purring.

"You're annoying, and I don't like you," she told him mildly. He blinked again, telegraphing _I don't believe you_ as he rose to his feet and stretched.

"Arggh. You're impossible," she said to him, picking him up and taking him over to the sofa. She sat down, cuddling the cat to her. He snuggled in, butted his head under her chin, and purred.

Well, another day over. Not much to do tonight: the last of Detective Riley's case notes to be written up and attached to his personnel file. A couple of reruns on TV.

She ran her hand along Bradley's back, enjoying the silken smoothness of the Burmese's fur. She wondered idly what Detective Riley's hair would feel like under her hands – not when he was wearing gel, obviously, but he hadn't been today...She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. _Oh, God, Iris, don't even go there._ 'Inappropriate' was the mildest word for a thought like that. Bradley abruptly decided he'd had enough affection just for now and reverted to his original subject, which had undoubtedly been food. He jumped off her lap and gazed accusingly at her. "Mao. Mrrao."

"Yes, yes, I hear you," she said sighing a little. She got up and made her way over to the cupboard where his food was kept. Case notes. Maybe she should have a look at a dating website, she thought with mild distaste. An antidote for her now ex-patient. Yes, probably a very good idea.

Xxxxx

Reese sat staring into the shot glass on the counter in front of him. Officially sane, or at least not completely buggy. And Finch had been right. Therapy had helped him achieve some balance, although God knew the sessions had been true balancing acts themselves – how to tell Iris, Dr Campbell, enough to satisfy her without giving away the dangerous stuff. Right up to this afternoon he'd kept in mind the possibility that she was a plant of some sort, but surely if anyone had known enough about him to plant her, they'd have known enough to take him out. And when she'd told him that their sessions could end, that had laid the last doubt to rest. No, she was what she seemed: a police shrink.

And it seemed to be true: a trouble shared was a trouble halved – she'd quoted that old proverb to him early on and he'd smiled with polite skepticism. While he'd kept carefully away from the really scary stuff, he'd talked quite a bit about Carter in one form or another. That grief was still there, but the sharpest edges of it were beginning to wear smooth. _You're right, Iris. I don't have to carry her around like a dead weight in order to __honor__ her memory._ He turned the glass in his fingers, frowning a little. _Since when did Ir-, Dr Campbell, become your imaginary friend, John?_ He thought uneasily.

Unbidden, Zoe's half-mocking expression came back to him. "You're interested in someone else," she'd said. But then she'd said "People like us, we're okay for a fling. But we don't do relationships." Irritated, he spun the little glass, sloshing the golden liquid onto his fingers. _What were you going to tell me next, Zoe? That we're hardly the same species as the rest of them?_ Suddenly he was heartily sick of it – the secrets, the lies, the _fakeness_ of it all. Wouldn't it be great if there was just one room in the whole world where he could shed all those aliases, one single person he could actually open up to? Abruptly he shoved the glass away, spilling the last of its contents onto the bar, rose, and left.

Xxxx

Iris watched the tall detective as he walked away, closed her office door gently and stood, considering. So, Detective Riley wanted more sessions. Considering how hostile and evasive he'd been at the start, she felt a little surge of professional pride that he'd evidently found enough value in what they'd been doing to want to continue. He was an intriguing man, that was for sure, and she was certain there was a lot more to explore under that taciturn exterior.

She thought of the one time she'd seen him in action. The lingering tension in him had vanished as the bullets whined around them, replaced with a superb economy of motion. Not a movement wasted, not a detail unobserved. Her own rusty training hadn't kicked in until after the whole thing was over, but he'd handled the whole incident with the ease of long practice. _No, you're not a cop,_ she thought. _You're a smooth operator, John Riley, and I'll even believe you're on the side of the angels. But your instincts - they're not a cop's._ She walked back over to her desk to note his next session in her diary. _So what are you? _She answered herself._ He's a human being in pain, and he needs my help. So I'm going to do my best to help him._

xxxx

Morning sunlight slanted through the windows in Iris' office. Reese sat in the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him. The adrenaline was starting to surge as he prepared to take a calculated risk.

"Listen, Iris, this is all confidential, right? It won't go any further?" His heart was starting to pound a little. Sitting opposite him, her face was tranquil, her posture relaxed.

"Absolutely, John. The only exception is if I feel you're a present danger to yourself or someone else."

"So even if a patient, um, hypothetically, told you they'd killed someone – you wouldn't..."

"Even in that case, I'm bound to treat it completely confidentially. It wouldn't leave this room."

"Oh. Good." He found himself relaxing a little. Maybe it would be all right.

Iris stayed motionless. The silence lengthened. "You know, John, you can tell me anything you like. Or not. What you choose to share is completely up to you."

His fingers, resting on his knees, dug into the fabric of his trousers. "I lied on my application to the academy."

"Oh?" One prefect eyebrow rose.

"You see, I spent years in the military. Special Forces. Some of the units I was assigned to conducted black ops. We were so secret we didn't exist. And so when I left in 2010 I couldn't tell anyone what I'd been doing. So some of what's in my file is, um, incorrect."

"Ahhh," she breathed. She sat up a little straighter. "That explains a lot." Seeing the worry on his face, she waved a hand. "Don't worry, John. Like I said, your secret is safe with me."

"You won't have me thrown off the force?"

"No, why would I? My psychological evaluation of you is that you're fit to serve, and you've been doing the job for years. The NYPD's short enough of good people as it is."

He breathed again. "When I was over there, someone told me that we were not just walking in darkness, we were the dark. I've killed a lot of people, Iris. It was my job, and I was very good at it." In the back of his head there was a little voice screaming "No! No! No!", but he was filled with a wild reckless feeling of freedom. He sneaked a peek at Iris' face. She was impassive, listening carefully. No shock or horror showed itself, not so far anyway. "Some of the people I killed were from a distance, some were with my bare hands. I guess some probably deserved to die, but I didn't really care. I was just doing what I was told."

She stirred a little. "That was then. Do you still feel that way?"

He hesitated a long moment. "They don't haunt me. But I don't feel especially good about the person I became during that time."

Iris seemed to be sitting thinking. Finally she shook herself. "I think we need to continue with this next session, John. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Oh." Crap, had he scared her? She didn't look scared, just thoughtful, but no reasonable woman could want to stay in the same room with him after hearing what he'd just told her.

She smiled at him, and his heart rose. "We really are out of time now, Detective. Next week?"

He smiled back, dizzy with relief. "Sure, Doc. Sure."


End file.
